Peculiars
by Mynt Mint
Summary: When the mayor is murdered, the blame immediately falls on his assistant, Noah Puckerman. He is lynched due to his hidden pyrokinesis, and is unable to confess his innocence due to the defamation of being a peculiar (a supernatural person). He, along with his fiancée Sam, have to find the true murderer and dispel the negativity of living as peculiar to ever be safe again.


"We have to go!" Sam screamed, holding the back door open with his foot. He was leaning as far out of the door as possible, ready to up and sprint the second Puck listened. Puck was metres from him, facing the opposite way. He was in a prepared stance for the oncoming onslaught of the tens of policemen surrounding their house.

"Puck! What are you doing?"

"Just shut up and let me think!" Puck roared back. The two bottles of vodka in his hands were nearly breaking with his death grip, but they didn't shatter. As much as he wanted to down the alcohol and pass out, it was more important that he save it for the next few crucial minutes.

They cops were screaming something or other, probably about giving up peacefully, but Puck didn't hear.

"In here, fuckers!" he bellowed. He took a swig of vodka to calm his nerves before officers poured into the other side of the room. "Fancy a drink?" He asked, hurling the bottles at them. Vodka splashed over the officers as the bottles smashed to pieces. Then, he did an incredible thing.

He brought his hands together, and once he unclasped them an orb of fire was levitating at his fingertips. "You found me." Puck grinned.

That made some of the officer's tense, and the others focus. All in all, the sight made them freeze. But they didn't have much time after that, as the ball of flame erupted like a flare from Puck's hands and hit one, catching on the alcohol until half the room was on fire. And with that, Puck escaped out the door Sam was holding for him, the two sprinting from the room of alight policemen.

"Was that necessary?" Sam huffed, as the two raced down their backyard. He followed the stepping stones out of habit, even though the scenery would most likely be upturned the second the police gave chase. "This was our home."

"_Was_," Puck stressed. They came to the lake at the end of the property. Puck doubled over, clutching a stitch in his side. "We knew this day would come eventually. It's why we got a house near the lake."

Sam didn't say anything in return, turning his attention to the still water of Plink Lake. He edged closer, until the toes of his sneakers were rippling in the water. He brought his palms together, pulling them apart, smooth and deliberate, parting the lake like Moses and the Red Sea. It was a big effort, as if his hands were magnetized and wanted nothing more than to glue themselves together. Yet, once they were shoulder width apart Sam relaxed, pleased with the width of the crevice he had made. He and Puck jumped down onto the earth, bracing as they landed.

"Shit," Sam breathed as the sounds of angry injured policemen erupted from their backyard. "Stay close to me." Sam's hands went back to shoulder width apart, then he clawed his fingertips together. The walls of water gushed back outwards, crushing onto the floor and roaring around them, flooding the lake again apart from the hemisphere of space Sam allowed them. Once the waves above them stilled the two walked together, Sam's outstretched hands commanding the hemisphere of air. Sam looked above the water, and saw licks of red undulate above. "If those dicks mess up my garden I'm going to drown them in their own bodily fluids."

For a while they walked in silence, listening to the eerie silence between their footsteps. Sam's arms were starting to get tired, but he didn't dare drop them. He walked like a 'T' in line with Puck, keeping them dry and disguised.

Sam sighed. "We were so careful."

"Yeah," Puck lamented, "Up until I set them on fire and you pulled a Moses on the lake." He was looking pensively up the water, staring at the fish that would dart away from their little bubble. "It was only a matter of time."

The bubble shook a little. "But I never even did so much as bend a bubble outside of our house. How did they find out?"

Puck shrugged. "We didn't exactly pick the most incognito jobs. We must've slipped up somewhere."

Sam wished Puck was slightly more resourceful, but it fell on deaf ears. "We were executive assistants to the mayor. We were making progress! He was coming around – he was supporting us! A couple more weeks I thought we could finally stop hiding in public! But he sends half of his police force to apprehend us?! What's the deal?"

It made Puck stop and think, until the back of his jacket soaked with water and he hurried to keep up with Sam. "I'm sorry. It must be frustrating to see all your work go down the drain like that."

"_Our_ work," Sam corrected. The two stopped. They had walked to the opposite side of the lake and were staring at its side, rusty rungs planted firmly all the way to the top. Sam kept his arms horizontal and allowed himself to be hoisted onto Puck's shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah. Our work," Puck said gruffly. He began to climb the rungs, bone dry until he climbed above them and the water returned below. Once the two had climbed back out of the lake they could barely see their house, but the amber flames licking the night air made it unmistakeable. Sam tried not to look back as they trudged on.

They couldn't risk hitchhiking, so it took them half an hour to make it to their next location. It was a unit of theirs, one suburb over. They never stayed there, and were in the process of refurbishing it to put it up for rent, but that plan would have to be put on hold. It wouldn't have been wise to stay there for longer than absolutely necessary, but the place contained the essentials needed to make their short stay a comfortable one.

Puck was in the process of getting a drink when Sam called him from the living room. He was staring dumbstruck at the TV, eyes wide.

"You better look at this," he said.

It was a special news report, a prim reporter spewing lines of information with urgency. "_In an urgent news update, it has been discovered that the Mayor of Slyne, Will Schuester, has been murdered. His body was found in his office at approximately 5:03pm, presumably where the murder took place." _The news anchor paused, and a picture of Puck's face was superimposed to her left. Puck spat his water at the screen. "_Judging from the contents of the mayor's desk, the main suspect is the mayor's aide, Noah Puckerman. The crime scene reveals that Puckerman is a pyrotechnic peculiar, and all citizens are advised to be aware and keep safe. We will have more as this progresses."_

Puck's glass shattered on the floor as it fell from his fingers. "Fuck." Puck ran up to the bedrooms, Sam tailing after him with concern. Puck was frantically shoving clothes into suitcases when Sam cautiously entered the room.

"Puck?" He asked. Puck stopped, hands steeped in the suitcases, arms shaking.

"He's dead," Puck managed to say. His hands balling into fists. "That's why they chased us. They think I killed him." He hung his head. "…I didn't kill him."

"I know," Sam said quietly. He moved closer and placed a hand on Puck's shoulder. "He was our friend."

Puck snivelled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Sam jerked back, and Puck went back to packing. "Someone killed him. He was murdered. And I was blamed. It's because we're peculiar, someone wants everything to stay the way it is. We were so close, _so close!_ And now the second they find me they'll lynch me on the spot."

"But who?"

"I don't know," Puck replied bitterly, slamming the suitcases shut and zipping them. He threw one at Sam. "All I know is we have to leave."

"Leave?" Sam said, his suitcase tumbling to the floor. "We have to plead your innocence! Running away is just going to make you look guiltier!"

Puck heaved his suitcase onto the floor. "I know," he sighed. "But we're peculiar. Innocent before proven guilty doesn't work for us. They'll kill me before they realize I'm innocent."

"Why couldn't we have just been born normal?" Sam lamented, acquiescing. He dragged his suitcase out of the room and into the garage. Puck followed behind, keys to the car in hand.

Not even two hours ago, the two had had a comfortable life – a house in the city and unit in the suburbs, with enough disposable income between them to live luxuriously, but right now, as they hauled their suitcases into the back of Puck's old Toyota and climbed into it (dust rising in thick clouds from the seats), it was obvious that was all about to change.

Puck heard the front door slam, but convinced himself it was just the wind. With the rise of the roller door he turned the key into ignition, and the rusting vehicle woke in the night.


End file.
